What other girl, of any age, would think everything about him was wonderful? Again. Easy answer. None.
Actually, he thought everything about her was wonderful, too. But she was fourteen for crap’s sake! And what was he supposed to do with that? If her father knew that Glen had any kind of non-babysitting thoughts about his daughter, Glen might as well be a dead man walking. But if Storm hadn’t disappeared, Glen wouldn’t have spent so much time with Rosie while Litha searched. And searched. And searched some more.
On the one hand he’d thought Rosie was kind of cute standing there like a fire-breathing dragon with eyes shooting sparks. He almost chuckled out loud. What stopped him was the impression that he’d hurt her feelings and that was what wasn’t sitting well.
It was Rosie, after all. She was sort of his. His to take care of is what he meant.
She’d just poofed away with that look of betrayal on her cute little face. No goodbye. No talk to you soon. He was accustomed to seeing Rosie look at him with adoration. Not like she’d just been slapped.
He was thinking he might as well call and cancel the date that had caused all the uproar. He wasn’t going to pass for good company in the mood he was in. Which was what? Shitty. That’s right. He was in a shitty mood.
He should call Rosie and apologize, say he was a fucking thoughtless rude asshole and ask her to please come back and finish the game.
Yeah. He should do that, but he wouldn’t because he was afraid she’d say no and he didn’t think he could stand it if she was really that mad. So how does that work, Glen? You want to be a Black Swan knight and you’re afraid to call a tweeny girl because she might reject you? Fucking head case.
Litha had met with Song at Jefferson Unit a few times to flesh out notes about Angel. The meetings weren’t exactly clandestine, but they were deliberately unbeknownst to him.
In the process of comparison, a picture of what matched and what didn’t began to emerge. Apparently everything had been the same until the two versions of Storm were fourteen. After that Angel compromised most of what he reported to Aelsong. She easily read in his mind that he didn’t want her to know the truth about his lifestyle, the choices he’d made and, for the first time, he felt pricks of shame about what he’d done with his life. He didn’t want to measure himself against the invisible persona that loomed over every aspect of his existence every second of every day, but it would have been impossible not to. Sir Storm was on everyone’s mind, in everyone’s heart, and on everyone’s lips.
Over the years Aelsong had developed the ability to ‘read’ with a poker face. She never gave away that she recognized a lie in the telling.
When she finished her project, she handed over the results, and left for Ireland to help prepare for her mum’s big birthday party.
Since Team Makeover was requiring less and less of Angel’s time, Elora took up the slack and increased his exposure to weaponry, mostly modern.
“Storm is the one who teaches guns. He’s an unbelievable marksman. That means the same ability is surely lying dormant in you, just asking to be waked up. You ready?”
“Not particularly, but I have time on my hands. So, you got something you want to show me, I’ll stand still and listen.”
On a big sigh and a little instruction from Elora Laiken, Angel opened a window to a world of talent he hadn’t known he possessed. In his world, guns were only owned by governments and well-connected criminal elements. Being caught with a firearm carried such a hefty prison sentence that most found the risk unacceptable. The last thing that Angel could have imagined was that he would be good with a gun.
CHAPTER 17
All was quiet with Jefferson Unit operating at thirty percent capacity. It seemed even quieter with Kay gone home for the weekend to see Katrina and Ram gone to Ireland for his mother’s birthday, which was more or less a command attendance.
Elora was invited, of course, but thought the trip by air was needlessly long for someone Helm’s age and the alternatives, either taking him through the passes or leaving him behind, were unthinkable.
She’d told Ram, “Any activity that could end with fleeing from five French-speaking and immortal adolescent vampire – or fill in the blank – is not an authorized activity for Helm.”
“And when are you thinkin’ he will be old enough?”
Elora gave Ram her dead serious face. “This little boy will never be tall enough for that ride.”
Ram said he had a strong preference for traveling to Ireland the old school way, on a company jet, “rather than bein’ handcuffed to the kinky asshole of a demon”.
Elora replied, "I can't really judge him harshly for wanting to use your body for pleasure. I want to use your body for pleasure most of the time."
Ram perked up, looking interested. "Like now?"
Elora opened her mouth to say something in the come-hither family when Helm started crying as if on cue. Both parents’ shoulders slumped simultaneously.
"Can you hold that thought for half an hour?” She moved toward the baby, but continued talking. “Don’t worry about Deliverance. He’ll do what Litha asks and the quicker you get to Ireland and back, the less time we’ll be without you.”
Ram sighed heavily. “I’d feel better if I had a deterrent. Somethin’ like wolfsbane.” He brightened. “Demonsbane! Do you think they have some in the basement at Edinburgh?”
Elora laughed. “I don’t know if there even is such a thing as demonsbane. You can ask, but even if it exists and they had some, they probably wouldn’t give it to you.” She shook her head. “You know the worst thing he’s going to do to you is squeeze your ass. Women have been dealing with that kind of unwanted attention since the big bang.”
Ram turned his mega-kilowatt smile on her. “You know I just realized there’s a sexual reference to ‘big bang’.”
She laughed in spite of not wanting to encourage him. “You’re hopeless, but I don’t like to see you worried so I’ll talk to Litha and ask her to make sure Deliverance knows you’re hands off.”
“Promise?”
She lowered her lids and smiled in response. “Would that be an opportunity I hear presenting itself? Sooooooo. What will you do for me?” she asked as she finished fastening a fresh diaper for Helm.
“A deal is it now? I’m thinkin’ Litha is a bad influence on you.” Ram lunged and growled against her neck. “Will be lovin’ you past the end of time.”
“Oh, well, all right then.”
Glen didn’t see Rosie for nine days. Not because he didn’t try. He called and left messages asking her to come see him or, if not that, to call back. She didn’t reply to any voicemail, but finally, after four days, sent a single text that simply read, “Busy.”
He sent other texts trying to tempt her with her favorite things.
We could get ice cream from the Hub and eat it at the duck pond. Or, I could give you another chance to beat me at Y Box. You pick the game.
She didn’t even bother to respond.
Glen had weathered post puberty as a kid who was confident, cute, sweet, funny and easy to be with. Girls responded positively to the package and they did it in a unanimous sort of way. It seemed those particular characteristics were universally desired and appreciated.
In late adolescence the cute, sweet, funny kid took that inherent werewolf confidence and upgraded to irresistible hawtness paired with just enough bad boy vibe to get a nocturnal fantasy rating off the charts. That combination meant that he was used to being in demand and being pursued.
Not only was he unaccustomed to being told no, but he found out that he also didn’t like it. At all. And, it seemed, he especially didn’t like it coming from Rosie.
If he’d had the option of popping across the continental U.S. in a matter of minutes, he would have done exactly that. He would have banged on her door and demanded to have it out, but she was holding all those cards, which made the aggravation even more grating.
He was struggling to keep perspective so
that the whole thing didn’t distract him from the business of running J.U. That was the very last thing he needed. Even before that incident, he had believed he was barely holding down the fort.
Yeah. That’s me! Look Mom, I’m holding down Fort Dixon.
He would have stopped and laughed at his own joke, but he was just too mad at Rosie to find anything that amusing. Not even himself.
By the time Elora came to him with the question about setting Rosie up on dates, he was bona fide combustible.
“What?!?”
Elora took note of the fact that normally laid-back Glen definitely wasn’t himself. He was out of sorts to say the least.
“I said, ‘Rosie’s mother and I wonder if you know any nice boys your age that you might set Rosie up with,” Elora repeated, ignoring the ballistic emoting. “We think she’s ready to put a toe in the waters of the wonderful world of dating.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
Elora’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “I don’t think so.”
“Litha is in on this?” he accused.
“Yes. She thinks it’s a good idea.”
“What is WRONG with you people?”
Elora’s confidence in her wicked matchmaking skill was growing in direct proportion to the level of fluster and frustration Glen was demonstrating.
“Nothing’s wrong with us, Glen. You’re the one who’s yelling. Where’s that signature cool that makes the girls throw panties? Whatever it is, maybe I can help. Do you need somebody to talk to?”
“Okay. How about this? NO! I don’t know anybody who wants to date children. If I did, I’d set them on fire myself. AND NOBODY IS THROWING PANTIES!”
“Come to dinner tonight. I have the little table in the wine room reserved. It’ll be nice and private. Just the four of us. We can talk about it. Maybe clear up some of your misgivings.”
“Four of us?”
“You, Litha, me, and Rosie.”
Glen’s head jerked up. “Rosie’s coming?”
“Why, yes. Of course.”
“I accept. What time?”
“What’s good for you? Eight thirty?”
“I will be there. If she thinks that I won’t have anything to say just because her mother is there, she’s going to…”
“Yes?”
He thought better of finishing that sentence. He realized he must really be losing it if he came that close to telecasting a take-down ahead of time.
“Never mind.”
“Is something wrong? If it’s Jefferson Unit biz, maybe I can help. You know I will if I can.”
When Glen looked at Elora, it was plain that he was miserable. His eyes were almost pleading for some kind of relief from an invisible source of torture. “You can’t help.”
“Okay, then. If you’re sure.”
“Sure.”
“See you tonight.”
“Yeah.”
Elora was sure that no matchmaking conspirator had ever walked away from putting out a feeler with a greater feeling of satisfaction. She could hardly wait to get out of sight and hearing distance – werewolf hearing distance – so that she could call Litha and make a report. Love between her two favorite new adults seemed like a farfetched fairy tale, but many stranger things had happened in and around the interests of Black Swan.
Glen arrived for dinner at exactly eight thirty. Litha and Elora were waiting with warm smiles and a nice Chardonnay, which he thought was a sissy drink, but didn’t say no. The single dinner table set in the middle of the wine room was intended for special occasions that required more atmosphere and privacy than could be found in the Mess, even though it was elegant by any standards.
The mother and adopted aunt motioned for Glen to sit. He seemed unusually restless and looked around nervously, like he was expecting an ambush. Litha poured a glass of white and handed it to Glen.
“Thank you. So, where’s Rosie? Did you decide it’s past her bedtime?”
Litha smiled indulgently. “Don’t tell Child Protective Services, but I let her go to bed when she pleases.”
“Really,” Glen said with an overtone of accusation. “Shocking, but not surprising.”
“Why, Glen, are you judging my parenting style harshly?” Litha asked.
He set the glass down after taking a sip and seemed to be considering his response as he sucked air through his teeth. “She’s your daughter and I’m sure it’s not easy raising her with Storm away. It’s not my place to judge.”
“Very diplomatic and cautious of you.” Litha studied Glen for a minute. “She’ll be here shortly. She just needed another minute to finish what she was doing.”
Glen snorted. “Video game or TV show?”
“No. I think it had something to do with hair, but since we have a minute to ourselves, I’d like to ask personally if you know some nice boys your own age who could be trusted to gently introduce Rosie to the mine-field of dating. Her circumstances have been so unusual that she hasn’t had the opportunities most girls have to interact with boys growing up. I think she needs to be eased in, don’t you?”
“As I told your cohort…” Glen glanced at Elora.
“Cohort?” Elora interrupted, registering her protest to the implication with an amused twinkle.
He ignored that and proceeded as if she hadn’t spoken. “…everybody I know who might be up for blind dating would be expecting someone who is…”
“Sorry I’m late. Oh good. You didn’t start without me.” Rosie had popped in behind Glen.
He turned in his chair thinking he would give her a piece of his mind for the way she’d behaved the past week, but when she came into view, he did a double take and was dumbstruck. Rosie had aged physically to just about the same age as Glen.
Her hair had grown so that it fell around her shoulders. The sheer weight of those raven tresses pulled a lot of the curl out and left her hair thick, wavy and glossier than he remembered. The girlish eyes that had glittered when she took his knight with her bishop now looked almost identical to Litha’s. She was wearing a dark emerald green silk dress that draped her body sensuously without being overtly provocative. It made her eyes look… captivating. She had grown to about the same height as Elora, which meant she got the tall gene from her dad and her figure had curved into an hourglass shape that made Glen swallow hard as the sweep of his eyes took her in.
Her breasts, full and rounded, had captured his gaze so that he didn’t seem to be able to look away. Rosie looked down at her chest like she was afraid something was on the front of her dress. “What’s wrong? Did I spill?”
Glen snapped out of it enough to stand.
“Hi, Glen,” she said brightly while taking a seat. He was flummoxed that she said hello as if everything between them was copacetic and totally cool. “I’m starved. What are we having?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Litha said. “Glen, what do you feel like?”
Glen was staring at Rosie with his lips parted. It wasn’t a full on gape, but it was a statement that he’d ventured way outside his comfort zone. Almost in slow motion, like some part of his brain registered from deep in a well that Litha was speaking to him, he brought his attention to her.
“Food. Ah. No. I… It’s Rosie’s evening. Let her decide.”
“Oh. That’s sweet, Glen.” That one half dimple always left Glen wondering if he’d really seen it when she smiled a certain way.
It was a miracle that he’d been able to put together a coherent sentence and speak it out loud. He deserved credit for that. What he didn’t deserve was to be accused of being sweet.
Sweet?
Glen didn’t want Rosie thinking he was sweet. Sweet was for kittens, pink hearts, glace and other outrageously sugary substances. Sweet couldn’t run Jefferson Unit in the absence of both Sovereign Nemamiah and the next best thing – her father. Sweet wouldn’t be put in charge of a life or death operation to rescue the Lady Laiken.
Glendennon Catch was not “sweet” and he resen
ted the implication. Sweet was not the word he wanted to hear her use to describe him. He wanted to watch her look at him while the perfection that was her bow-shaped mouth smiled and said words like heroic, sexy, badass or irresistibly delicious.
So he opted for acting out, slumped back in his chair, tried to look bored and said, “Whatever.”
“Let’s find out what Crisp has to say about what’s going on in the kitchen tonight. So, Glen,” Rosie started in a conversational tone so polished it sounded like she’d been to finishing school. “How much longer will you be running the show here? Is Sol ever coming back?”
“Next week.”
“Well, I’ll bet you can’t wait to get back to doing whatever you were doing before.”
“Whatever I was doing before? Seriously?”
Rosie’s face fell when she heard that his tone was clearly offended. “Well, I didn’t know you before, you know.”
That seemed to bring the conversation to an abrupt halt. Rosie and Glen stared at each other. Litha and Elora sat quietly across from one another, witnessing the exchange and occasionally glancing at each other in wordless communication.
Glen seemed to be becoming more surly and sullen by the second. Elora pushed back her chair and stood. “I think I’ll go see what’s keeping Crisp.”
As suddenly as Glen had lost his voice, he found it. He leveled a focus on Rosie she’d never seen before and she had to resist squirming under the intensity of it.
He stood as he threw his napkin down on the table without taking his eyes off Rosie. “Do you think I might have a word with you? In private?”
She glanced at Elora, who winked, and then at her mother, who was completely noncommittal. Seeing that she was on her own, Rosie nodded to Glen and pushed her chair back.
He held the door to the courtyard open so that she could pass first. On her way by she opened her mouth to say something, but he stopped her by holding up a finger. He put his hand against the small of her back and guided her to a door on the opposite side of the fountain. It opened to an empty meeting room, the one where the French vampire had first appeared in pursuit of Rosie’s mother.
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